


A Space Junk Patch Job

by Monstrosibee



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: PTSD, after predacons rising, autobots and decepticons are sort of shakily peaceful, discussion of classism and caste, post prime lost light au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 08:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16260743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstrosibee/pseuds/Monstrosibee
Summary: Megatron departs after Unicron is expunged from his body, but he has no direction and no plans. Meanwhile, a million miles away, a weary Autobot named Rodimus pilots a sanctuary ship named the Lost Light in a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, and hopefully a way to revive their dead planet. Autobots, Decepticons, and neutral Cybertronians coexist in uneasy peace aboard this ship, but outside forces threaten to shatter the mixed community. A reluctant alliance may be the only way to prevent the war beginning anew.





	A Space Junk Patch Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one starts when we last see Megatron in Predacons Rising.

Typically, when saying anything, Megatron said it with many more words and much less regret.

But for once, he was a mech of few words.

As he headed for the stars, the gazes of what remained of the Autobot army on him, he was unsure of himself for the first time in a very long time. Knife sharp scraps of Unicron’s voice prickled through his mind like radio static against his brain module, the memories of the Great Destroyer’s words enough to send dread shooting down his spine and out across his wing tips. The chill in the upper atmosphere spread ice across the wide expanse of his alt-mode’s hull, though he hummed with enough heat and energy to keep the worst of it at bay; he was not a space faring vessel, but with as much work as he had put into upgrading a basic mining frame into a battle grade chassis, it would hold.

For the moment.

And the moment was all he needed. All he wanted. Megatron had very little desire to contemplate the future, to think of what exactly he was going to do or what was going to happen. He had fought tooth and claw for his entire life for one cause or another, been presented with very obvious obstacles that gave him few choices on how to act. He may have lead, but leading was easy when you just had to lead against the opposing side. The opposing side of the senate, of the Autobots, of Orion Pax and Optimus Prime. Where was his opponent now, other than the yawning pit he felt in his spark?

Shooting past the outer limits of Cybertron’s budding atmosphere, he felt the full weight of space on him, and his engines sputtered in surprise for a moment. They adjusted as he knew they would; Unicron would never build himself a weak body. A gaudy one perhaps, but never weak. He’d have to adjust some of these ostentatious flanges along his shoulders; they were throwing off his balance. Not a problem for an ageless god, but Megatron had been flight moded long enough to know wasting energy on things like accounting for decorations during turn calculations was foolish.

He was distracting himself. Chassis modification was hardly his main priority. It should have been one question: What was a burned out ex-revolutionary meant to do when revolution became tyranny? The buzz of Unicron’s derisive hate burned at the front of his mind again and he physically flinched, turbines nearly coming out of the sockets of his alt-mode. It was both his own feelings and the dregs of a god’s eternal disgust that felt like a jab in the circuits.

A burst of light in the corner of his vision dragged Megatron from the discomfort of his slowly crumbling sense of self. He glanced to the side long enough to see glimmers of multi-hued light flickering past him, outstripping his intense pace and then doubling back to dance across the long curving lines of his alt-mode. Bursts of heat and vibration bloomed from where they touched the pockmarked metal skin, although the Earth metal upgrades that Unicron had made were cold and numb, and he slowed slightly as the lights bounced directly across his optics’ line of vision. They were miniature stars, maybe ten in total, each a different color and bright as daylight, melting the thin patina of ice away from his skin.

“You are familiar...It’s been so long though...Why...?” His voice, already weak from physical and mental exhaustion, made no sound in the vacuum of space, but the lights seemed to respond anyway. He didn’t stop - he needed to distance himself from Cybertron, no matter what he planned to do in the future - but his desperate escape slowed even farther as the lights pulsed in time with his words. Eight of them beat with brighter light, then fled, prancing past him and out of sight, likely lost in the expanse. Two remained; one a soft yellow, the other a blue so brilliant it was like the Matrix itself. 

“Ahh.” Megatron’s words again get lost in vacuum, but the spark doesn’t need sound to understand, and it bobs in time again with his words. “I see. It has been long since I’ve seen a spark without a casing. New births stopped so long ago. I suppose that means Optimus Prime has gotten what he wants.” 

The yellow spark dimmed, then shot away, as though offended, and he watched it until it was out of sight. Alone now, the blue one hovered over top his back, just in view of his optics in his alt-mode, its pulse even and gentle. Primal creation myth told that when the world was young and the Well of All Sparks shone white hot with new life, fresh sparks would shoot forth from it with such speed and strength that they could bust through the atmosphere and orbit Cybertron a few times before returning. 

By now, though, he was a bit out of range of that specific orbit, and so was his tiny traveling companion - if he even believed in what the old religion told. Live births in his day and age meant delicate sparks carefully extracted from white hot ground by experts who trained for thousands of years, not miniature shooting stars that could catch a flier going top speed through space. The spark lit upon his back again, and the sudden heat and sensation its touch spread made him question how it could ever be as fragile as his own struggling spark, flickering softly in a cage in his chest. His body, despite the upgrades both he and the Destroyer made, was old; not ancient by Cybertronian standards, but worn by war and neglect. The Dark Energon had stained his spark, left the thing with scars not unlike tiny sunspots that he could feel even if he couldn’t see, and it worked harder than it should have to push energy into his extremities. 

Unicron’s hatred bit down again on his mind, and his engines sputtered, flickering out for a moment before roaring to life again. The Destroyer was gone and his body was his own, but something about his vile essence clung to the inside of Megatron’s circuits. He felt it intensify as his eyes flicked over the spark, and he couldn’t help a soundless chuckle. Of course Unicron would be disgusted by new life, but even Megatron wasn’t short circuited enough to hate a newborn.

His mind continued to drift as he picked up speed again. He didn’t recognize most of the scenery, but he had been away from Cybertronian space for a good many years. Instead of making plans like he should have been doing, he took to cataloging the new stars that had formed in the millennia he’d been away. Nebulae blossomed around him like plumes of smoke, and he could remember the names of one or two of them, titles given by ancient Cybertronians when they were gods to a primitive society. 

Primus’ Spark drifted past him, telling him he was farther than he had expected he had come - was his internal timekeeper working properly? He hadn’t felt the descent into stasis, but thinking for a moment, he realized he didn’t remember passing the Therex binary system, which was always came before Primus’ Spark when traveling away from Cybertron. 

Suddenly, his optics came back online, as did the rest of his systems. This time, Megatron felt the return of his consciousness to a fully functioning state from sudden stasis. He had blacked out, a startling loss of function due to a combination of the damage that Unicron had inflicted on him and the stress that hurtling at full speed unprotected through space put on his spark. The energon pumping through his body wasn’t enough to keep the freezing bite of space out of his circuits, and whatever kinds of radiation and foreign energies pulsing between the stars were definitely not good for already vulnerable systems.

His vision flickered again, as did his engines, and when his internals came back on he struggled to reactivate his thrusters. They coughed and sputtered, software out of sync with hardware, and his vision fizzed out again. Now though, he felt the creeping cold of stasis lock as his systems began to shut down completely, starting with his engines. Inertia kept him moving, but without the heat of burning energon, his systems froze further, and he felt all his joints lock as his T-cog ceased spinning. Slowly, his tactile sensors went out and numbed his metal skin; his hearing silenced, though he couldn’t hear anything in the vacuum. 

For a few moments, his optics functioned, leaving him with an imprisoned view of the space before him. The blue spark, which he thought had danced away, floated back across his hull and into view, investigating the thickening ice across his plating with slow curiosity. Then his vision cut out abruptly, and everything was silent.


End file.
